


Miami Morty and Some Lowlife Criminal

by princessofpower



Category: Pocket Mortys, Rick and Morty
Genre: Greaser!Morty/Miami!Morty, M/M, very uninspired title
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6001122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofpower/pseuds/princessofpower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miami Morty is a spoiled little brat, obsessed with his instagram follower count. Greaser Morty is a lowlife criminal who skipped on his own dimension. They can't stand each other, but find themselves inexplicably attracted to one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Morty used to spend every summer down in Miami with his grandfather, Rick Sanchez, who just so happened to be loaded. Morty never bothered to ask where all his money came from, nor did he care. All he knew was that Rick loved to spoil him, and his sister too. Anything they asked for, he would buy it. Rick seemed to have everything going for him, while Morty's parents were struggling. For this reason Morty and Summer had managed to convince them to let the two of them stay in Miami full time, to finish high school. Although, Morty'd given up on the whole school thing pretty quickly. But like his grandpa said, it didn't matter, he'd be set for life either way. All the money, the opulence, lack of responsibilities and worshippers in the form of 25k Insta followers, had managed to quickly turn Morty into a vain and vapid spoiled brat. His biggest concerns in life were how he looked, what he bought, and who was seeing him looking good in the the things he bought. 

This morning (morning for Morty being about 1:30, seeing as he didn't like to roll out of bed until noon), he was down on the beach as he often was, leaning against the short wall surrounding the boardwalk which overlooked the water. He was decked out in bright pastels, with a cute little pair of heart-shaped shades over his eyes. As he was checking his phone he noticed something out of the corner of his eye that caught his attention. He glanced over his iPhone, it was some kid in a stupid looking leather jacket. God, wasn't he hot? Morty was in a crop top and he was sweating. There was something else about the guy… It took him a moment to realize it, but then it hit him. He was a Morty. He blinked. He'd never seen another Morty in his own dimension before. God, who knew a version of himself could be so lame? He looked like a member of the T-Birds. He couldn't possibly think that looked good. And was that motorbike he was next to his? Christ, maybe in his dimension that wasn't a played out cliche. As he turned around to adjust something on the bike Miami Morty smirked to himself. He was gonna mess with this kid. He slipped his phone into the pocket of his shorts and slinked over. He came up directly behind him ever so quietly, and then, abruptly, he wrapped one arm around the others midsection, and placed his other hand over his mouth. "You're a dead man, Morty Smith!" He shouted in his best tough-guy voice (which was pretty pathetic by any objective standard.). The greaser slipped out of the hold with ease, quickly turning on his heal to face the flamboyantly dressed Morty. 

"What's your problem, man?"

Morty laughed, evidently amused by his own actions. "You were scared, admit it!"

The greaser just groaned. "How'd you know my name, you little punk?"

"Umm, duh!" He pointed to his own face. "I'm a Morty Smith too, genius." 

Greaser Morty quirked an eyebrow, taking a moment to study the boys face. "Huh… So y'are…" Without warning, he took the other Mortys face in one hand, turning it back and forth, up and down, squeezing his cheeks together. "You got a real small nose…"

"It's new." He informed him, pushing him away. "My grandpa bought it for me, last summer."

"Yeesh, a nose job? What the hell for? S'not like Mortys got big schnozes to begin with."

"I guess. But my new nose is much cuter, don't you think?"

"Eh. You look pretty stupid either way in that ridiculous getup."

"Me!? You look l-like you're on your way to fight the Jets."

"Pfft, clever…"

"What are you doing in this dimension, anyhow?"

"That aint none of your business, pretty boy. I don't want nothin' to do with you, or your Rick or nothin' like that, so don't worry your empty little head about it."

Miami Morty shot him a sour glair, crossing his arms. He was the stupid one, really? "Have fun getting heat stroke." Was all he said before turning to leave with a roll of his eyes.  
\---------------

Later that night, our beach bum Morty was standing by the row of store-fronts just opposite the beach. He glanced at each car that drove by. There weren't too many people around anymore. He took a look at his phone. "Summer was supposed to pick me up two hours ago…" He mumbled to himself. "Where is she?" He waited a few more minutes, wrapping his arms around himself. It was starting to get cold. Just as he was contemplating heading downtown to catch a cab, he was approached by a couple of guys. They looked to be older teenagers, possibly in their early twenties. They didn't look like the type of people Morty normally found on the beach, and they made him a little uneasy. "Bum a cig?" One asked.

"S-sorry… I don't s-smoke…" He responded, hoping they would leave him alone. The one who hadn't spoken kept staring at him though, looking him up and down. Morty swallowed. What could he want from him? 

"I know who this kid is." He told his companion. "You're Rick Sanchez's grandson, aren't you?" Morty didn't answer, just looking back with wide eyes, before averting his frightened gaze. The two backed him into the wall of the shop he'd been waiting outside of. "Hand over some of that cash." He told him plainly, popping out a switch blade. 

"W-what…?"

"We know you're loaded, kid!"

"I-I-I only carry a credit card, I swear!" He whimpered in response. 

"Say, maybe we could get a nice ransom for this kid."

"Now there's an idea. Come on, Sanchez. Be a good boy and come with us now." The one with the knife brought it up, dangerously close to Morty's face. The other guy grabbed him by the wrists and began pulling him along. The knife stayed close by to keep him from trying to escape. 

"P-please don't hurt me…" Morty begged pathetically, tears now streaming down his face. Before his knife wielding assailant could respond he was brought to the ground by what Morty only realized a few seconds later was a swift kick to his crotch. He wriggled out of the grasp of the other, stumbling backwards in the process. It was that other Morty! In no time, he had those two low-lives running. 

"You okay?"

Morty nodded, trying to catch his shaking breath. 

"What the hell are you doing out here? Don't you know it aint safe at night for a wimpy little pretty boy like you?"

"S-Summer was s-suppossed… S-s-supposed to…" He was practically choking on his own words.

Greaser Morty sighed deeply, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "Come on. I'll take ya' home, okay?" He grabbed his alternate self by the hand and briskly walked him down the sidewalk.

"Th-thanks…" He stammered out through a loud sniffle. He wiped his cheeks with the back of his free hand.

"Stop your crying, would ya!? It's over!"

"I-it was scary…."

"God, you're sheltered." He lead him to where he was parked, letting go and turning to look at him. "You cold?" The other nodded. "Well, guess you shoulda brung a jacket, huh, you little dummy?"

"D-don't…."

"Chill out kid, I'm just messin' with ya'." He gave the other boy a playful punch in the arm before reaching into his pocket for the bike keys.

"I-I'm not getting on that death machine…" Miami Morty declared, pointing limply at the motorcycle.

"Fine by me." He responded, seating himself on the bike. "I'll be sure to check out the dumpsters 'round here tomorrow for your remains." 

Morty looked to each side nervously. "Remains?"

"Yeah, when you inevitably get murdered out here. Cut up, and put into like, six… Six garbage bags."

"F-fine…!" He clumsily hoisted himself onto the back of the vehicle, trying not to make physical contact. 

"By all means, take your sweet time, Princess! I've got all night to accommodate your ass, of course!"

"I'm on!" He snapped.

"Hold on to me, you little air-head! You wanna smash that empty skull of yours on the pavement?"

Morty wanted to yell at him. Nobody else would get away with calling him stupid, but considering his situation he decided against it. He simply groaned and gave in. He wrapped his arms around the drivers midsection, and brought the rest of his body against him. God, this felt awkward. His crotch was pressed right up against another persons back. He couldn't recall the last time he felt this uncomfortably close to another person. He felt his face heat up. He was so focused on the uncomfortable closeness he almost forgot how terrified he was of door-less vehicles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, people actually like this story? I'm flattered!

Miami Morty's cheeks burned red as he was whizzed through the streets on that death machine. He hated this. He hated that he was pressed up against this guy, wrapped around him, holding on for dear life. He could die of embarrassment, but he would literally die if he loosened his grip. Worst of all, and most incredibly humiliating, was the fact that his hormone addled body had to go and betray him and decide that this was a pleasurable position to be in. Yes, that's right, his dick was hard. Just the cherry on the shit sundae. How could he help it though? His crotch was pressed up against someones back while he vibrated and was occasionally bounced by a pothole. He prayed to god the other couldn't feel it…. Leather was like, really thick, wasn't it? Cautiously, he slightly opened one of his eyes, just to see if they were almost there. Bad idea, he immediately squeezed it back shut. How could he be simultaneously turned on and terrified? He just wanted this night to end already….

 Finally, they were pulling into Morty's driveway.

 "Christ, this is where you live?"

 "Yeah… So what?" He asked, relieved when he could finally pull himself away from the other. He delicately slid off and adjusted his clothes. This morning he'd been contemplating whether to wear these loose fitting purple shorts, or his skinny denim cutoffs. Was he ever glad for his decision now.

 "This place is fuckin' enormous! No wonder you're so… Heh, never mind."

 "So what?"

 "I said never mind, jeez."

 "Okay, okay… Well… Th-thank you. I should be… Y-you know, g-getting inside…" He hated when his stutter came out. So much for speech therapy.

 "That's it? Come on, don't I get some sorta reward for returning the Prince of Puked-Up Pastels to his Kingdom of Crap?"

 "Reward? What about just helping someone to be _nice_?"

 "I aint _nice_. You know, if it wasn't for me you would'a gone from baby-face to scarface tonight."

 He _did_ save him from being kidnapped… He probably should do something for him. It would show he was the better person, after all. "Well… Where are you staying tonight?"

"You inviting me in?" He chuckled.

 "Hardly… What I _meant_ to say was, why don't you check yourself in to, like, a nice hotel. I'll pay for it with my card, over the phone, okay? A real ritzy… Ritzy room for the night, that's a _good reward_. take it or leave it."

 "Eh, sounds fine to me. Not that I care, but aint anyone gonna question a hotel stay on your card?"

"What? No… That's why Grandpa Rick got me the limitless card, so I could buy whatever I want, duh. He doesn't snoop on my transactions, he just pays it."

 "Hearin' that almost makes me sick to my stomach."

 "Wow,  _Judgey_. You jealous, or what? G-get out of here before I change my mind." 

\------------------------------------------------

Greaser Morty layed back in the hotel bed, his arms behind his head. It was just some chain hotel. As much as he would've liked to take advantage of having temporary access to some rich dummy's credit card, he woulda felt too out of place at one of the joints the other Morty probably had in mind. 'Sides, this place was nicer then where he _would've_ been sleeping tonight anyways. Guess having to save that bubble brains ass turned out alright after all. What did dad used to call it? A blessing in disguise, or some crap like that? Funny, he half expected that wimpy little Morty really would invite him inside. He chuckled to himself. He'd heard stories about that kinda thing. People in mortal danger getting the hots for their saviours. He thought maybe that's what was happening. The little brat was stiff the whole damn drive after all. Probably just from the vibrations though. Hell, same thing happened to him first time he drove a bike. That Morty was fucking annoying as all hell though. Spoiled little, sheltered brat. He really couldn't stand people like that, crying at the drop of a hat. Couldn't even handle a measly little pocket knife, pathetic. 

Still, he had to admit, if that guy did invite him up, he would've fucked him. Why the hell not? He was cute enough, and he _did_ always have a thing for bimbos. Air-heads like that were irritating to listen to, but great to stick your dick into. Pfft, that snobby little sissy probably thought he was too good for him anyhow. Let him. Didn't matter. He hopefully would never see the little brat again. 


	3. Chapter 3

Miami Morty awoke the next day earlier then usual. He was so exhausted last night he'd fallen asleep in his clothes. He'd also not bothered to close the curtains, so the sun flooded in through the bay window, directly onto his face. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 10 am. He hadn't been up this early in months. Maybe he'd try having some breakfast for once. He rolled out of bead and threw on a fluffy white house coat to hide that he was still wearing what he wore yesterday. Not that Rick would care, more for his own reputation. 

When he got downstairs, to his disappointment, a couple of Rick's suitcases were sitting by the doorway. "Are you going somewhere?" Rick didn't give him much detail about where or why he was leaving, just that it had come up suddenly. "Can't I come?"

"Not this time, Morty." Was the only response he got, before he was left all alone. 

At about 11:30, as he sat at the sparkling marble kitchen counter, nibbling a piece of toast, he got a text from Summer. She wouldn't be around either, some weekend cabin party.  _'Thanks for not inviting me.'_ Morty thought to himself resentfully. 

Morty spent the next few hours lazily, by himself. He had a shower, styled his hair and got dressed, watched some TV, checked Instagram… Eventually he found his way to the backyard, sitting by the pool. He decided not to go down to the beach, even though it was probably irrational, he felt he shouldn't leave the house empty. He was mostly alone with his thoughts in the comfy white recliner. If someone broke into the house when he was gone, they'd probably be robbed. What if someone broke in while he was home alone though? Would they hurt him, to prevent him from calling the police? Would they get the idea to hold him ransom? He knew a fair amount of people knew who he was, but it wasn't until last night that it occurred to him that dangerous people could know too. He started to feel a little nervous. The house was so big, someone could be hiding anywhere, and he wouldn't even know it… He looked over his shoulder, then back. He needed another person. He couldn't be alone here anymore, he decided.

He whipped out his phone and scrolled through the numbers. Rick, Summer, Dad, Mom… Didn't he have any friends? Oh, here. Lucy. Sometimes they went jogging on the peer. He kind of knew her. He gave her a call. 

"Sorry, Morty. I'm out of town… Mandy Taylor's cabin…"

Damn. Okay, who else? Joey! They hung out, like every weekend! Joey was always on the beach.

"I don't know, Morty, your house is really far…"

Ugh! He scrolled through his contacts again. Most of them were people he only knew online… He checked his call history. The top number was that other Morty. He'd called last night so he could book that room for him. How embarrassing to call him up and ask to hang out? But he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight all alone in the big-ass house. And that Morty was poor, and probably had nowhere to stay. Even if he didn't like him, he'd still probably come. "…Goddammit…" He tapped the number and held the phone to his ear. 

"H-hey, Morty… It's Morty…. So, how was… How was your stay?…. Good, good. Listen, I know we don't really know each other, but…."

\---------------------------------

The ring of the doorbell made him jump a little, but only a little. He opened the front door to let in his _friend_ …? Were they friends now? They were something at this point. He stared back at him through the doorframe with a stupid smirk that made Morty want to smack it off his face. But of course, he held back.

"I… Appreciate you coming over…" He said, slightly embarrassed by his stupid fears, but he hoped the other Morty wouldn't say anything.

"Figures." He replied, stepping inside. "Don't be embarrassed. It's only natural a wimpy little boy'd need a big strong _man_ to come protect him."

Morty groaned. "You're so humble…"

"Uh huh. You said there'd be food."

"And there is." He gestured to the coffee table, several delivery boxes on top of it. "It just got here, so help yourself."

"Huh, I really pegged you as a health food nut." He commented, making his way over, grabbing a chicken finger.

"Well, you know the truth is, I find it hard to eat sometimes. It just makes me nauseous, so I have to try and get in a lot of calories…"

"Uh huh. That's a boring story." He hoisted himself up so he was sitting on top of the table, dangling his legs below him.

"Oh, err… Maybe… Maybe don't sit on there…"

"And why not? This is how I do things."

"Well… It's very rude, you know. You shouldn't."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I'll just leave then."

"N-no!"

"That's what I thought." He chuckled to himself. "You really are a pathetic Morty, scared in your own house."

Morty looked down, grabbing at his limp arm. He did feel  ashamed about that, and this whole situation was embarrassing, he knew. 

"Just tell me, why'd you call _me_ over to come protect you?"

"I don't need protecting. I just needed a friend to come over and…"

"Well, I aint your friend. Do you not have any friends?"

"Yes, I do! I have lots of friends, they're just… Busy tonight, okay?"

"Yeah. I'm sure a trendy lil' rich kid like you has not one available friend. Ya'sure you didn't call me for another reason?"

"What are you talking about? What other reason would I ever think to call you?"

"I dunno." He shrugged. "Maybe getting your life saved really got you going."

"Got me going…? What are you trying to say!?" He demanded.

"I think you've got a crush on me. You've got a boner for me, don't you?"

Morty turned bright red. Oh God! Did he know!? "That's stupid! You're an idiot!"

"No. You are, prissy-pants. Ya' invite me over, feed me, show off all that skin."

"Huh?" He looked down at himself. He was wearing roller-disco shorts and an off the shoulder T-shirt. It was what he always wore, he didn't think of it as particularly sexual in any way. "It's hot out! Which apparently, you're immune to?" He asked, noticing he was still wearing that ratty old jacket.

"You've got the hots for me, and you don't even know it."

"Keep dreaming. You're obviously the one who finds _me_ attractive, otherwise you wouldn't have brought it up." He declared, crossing his arms.

"Eh, you're okay. I'd probably have a go at ya'. But I don't got no respect for you, so it's not like I like ya' or nothin"

"Why not?" He was more bothered by that then his insinuation that he was hiding a crush.

"Cause you're a wimp. Ya' can't take care of yourself. You're also a ditz. And you got all this _stuff._ But ya' never had to work for any of it."

"Well, you don't seem to take any pride in your appearance." He retorted, sitting down on the couch, his arms still crossed. "You're reckless, and you don't respect _yourself_."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"If you did, you'd wear a helmet on that stupid motorcycle. You wouldn't even have something so dangerous!"

"If I wasn't reckless, I wouldn't'a saved you."

"Why did you? If you hate me so much, hmm?"

"I don't even know… I guess, I would've felt bad. You know, you looked so pathetic and helpless… I mean, I knew what could happen…"

Morty sighed. Why was he so intent on reminding him of his insecurities? "Look… You needed somewhere to stay, and I needed someone to stay here…. Can we please just try and get along? Then, we never have to see each other again."

"Fine…"

"…Can you get off my table, please?"

"Alright, alright." The greaser obliged. He knew if he kept up the attitude, it would only make the night shitty. 

 


	4. Propasition

“Hey there, err… Old pal? Listen, I’m gonna cut right to the chase here. I’ve gotta pick something up over in  _Rainbow Beach,_ and you, that’s right you, are gonna come with me! Huh? What do you think of that?” The only reason he was really inviting him was because Morty happened to be terrified of being on the highway alone, and out of the few people he knew he figured this other Morty probably wouldn’t judge him for what it was he was going to pick up. 

“Now, I know what you’re gonna say, but before you ask, consider this…” He pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket. “This is a blank check. You help me out with this and I’ll let you put any number you see fit on this little line here, and I’ll sign it. What do you say? Pretty good deal,  _I_ think.”

Oh no, it was that guy again.  _That_  Morty, if Greaser Morty had the gall to call him as such; the idea sent a shiver down his spine. Now he was talking to him, and there didn’t seem to be any escape in sight– it didn’t stop him from looking for one, though.

“Why the hell w-would I wa-wanna–” his voice stopped as soon as his eyes caught sight of gold, and he answered the question for him.  _Any_  number?

“I…is this some kinda joke?” He crossed his arms, rolling the toothpick between his teeth.

“Oh I never joke about  _this_ kind of thing.” He said, flicking the check with the top of his fingernail for emphasis. 

“Why  _me_ ? Don’t tell me ya don’t actually have any f-friends for this?”

“Well, yes,  _of course_ I have friends. It’s just that they’re all…” Assholes. “…Not so good in these types of situations.” Maybe he should try a little ego stroking. “But  _you_ . Now, you seem like a real  _tough_ guy. Someone strong and competent!  _That’s_ who I need around in the case of an emergency of some type.” He gave the other a light, playful punch on the arm. “You really think someone as  _weak_ and  _frail_ as me should be traveling alone?” Okay, maybe he was laying it on a  _little_ thick.

Morty’s expression was deadpan, but his bargaining may have been surprisingly effective. Sure, the other Morty may have been over-the-top with his ego, but truthfully or not, it was easy enough to go along with some kind of reward–not that he’d back down so soon, but the temptation was obvious.

“Don’t bullshit m-me,” he whined, eyes rolling as he tilted back on his heels.  “A bribe’s a b-bribe. Let’s be real, a-as they say it,” he demanded, voice thick with more roughness this time.  “Gimme th-the truth, man. Why’m I h-here and  _who’s drivin’?”_

“The truth is that I need someone to come with me, and I chose you for reasons which are not even important. I’m paying for gas, food, whatever else we could possibly need or want  _and_ you’re getting a monitory reward  _of your choice._ That is a sweetheart deal. Think about it, you have so much to gain and  _nothing_ to lose.” He didn’t know why the other Morty was being so difficult. He really thought the blank check would seal the deal.   “I’m driving obviously, I mean it’s my car. Plus, you probably can’t drive stick. Wait…” He lowered his oversized sunglasses slightly, so he was looking at the other with just the tops of his eyes. “Are you trying to haggle? Okay, okay fine. Name your conditions.”

He caught gaze of the other Morty as soon as his shades were lowered, quirking a brow and half-smiling.

“I can ddrive stick just fine. I’m bringin’ us b-back,” he stated, “an’ that’s all I ask.”

“Fair enough!” Morty agreed to his terms with a smile, glad he’d finally given in. “But if you crash my car, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Heh, just kidding.” He laughed at his own joke with a snort. “Come on, I’ll show ya’ it.” He gestured for the other to follow him, he lead him only a little ways down the street to where he was parked. 

“Great,” he agreed, and took the other’s hand with a shake, despite his death threats or otherwise; for once, it seemed reasonable to him.

“Pretty sweet ride, huh?” He asked, looking proudly at the blue vintage mustang convertible. It’d clearly been recently restored, as it looked brand new and bore a striking resemblance to a  _Barbie Dream Car_ . That is aside from the gaudy lime green spinning rims, which didn’t match the rest of the vehicle in any way. “It was my Easter present.”

He wasn’t unpleased, to say the least, eyeing it over like a peace of meat with an expression of surprise and a low whistle.

“Easter colors ta fit, huh?” He half-joked, nearly wincing from the color but clearly dazed from the model, otherwise. He had more respect than to put his hands all over it, but eagerness showed as he tugged open the door and swung himself into the passenger seat.

Morty grinned proudly to himself. He could tell his other self was impressed. He got in himself, fixing his hair in the rear-view mirror before adjusting it. The interior was just as polished as the outside, with white leather interior and a few kitschy decorations, such as an air-freshener shaped like a fish in a bowl. 

“Hang on, I just need to do one thing.” He took out his phone and snapped a quick picture of himself, then discarded the device on the dashboard. “So like, what do you want me to call you? Just Morty, or…?” He asked his companion as he started the vehicle and pulled out of the parking space.

The greaser definitely took the time to roam his fingertips over the leather, eyes surveying the interior with curiosity and appreciation, only distracted by the other doing something with his phone and tossing it around. He reached down to the levers tucked beneath his side of the seat and adjusted it to lean back, a hand folding behind his head for a makeshift pillow as he pretended to relax. Who knew how long he’d be here, after all.

“Fine by me,” he responded with nonchalance, “u-unless ya have ‘notha preference.”

“I’ll call you Morty if you want, it’s just kind of weird. Calling someone by  _my_ name. But i guess you are me. Or, you’re  _not_ me but… Ugh, I don’t know! That shits too confusing! All I know is we gotta make a stop before we get on the number 9 cause I never get on the highway without a Slurpee in my cup-holder, know what I’m saying, girl!?”

“Yeah, you’re really admiring my ride, huh? I know, I’ve got such good taste!” He said, half teasingly. “Do you like,  _know_ about cars? You one of those car guys?” The teenager asked, genuinely curious. He kind of presumed he might, just based on his looks. Morty himself knew very little about them, aside from how to drive one. 

A smug smile replaced his nonverbal response as he listened to the other gloat about his belongings, only nodding in response to actual questions.

“I could b-build one from scrap,” he admitted, letting out a bit of a laugh and glancing back to the other.

“Really? Well then, if we break down or get a flat, that’s  _your_ job. But seriously, how’d you learn about cars and stuff? I  _know_ it wasn’t from your dad.”  _Called that one_  he thought to himself. Obviously you  _could_ judge a book by its cover.  “I’ll call you Morty if you want, it’s just kind of weird. Calling someone by  _my_ name. But i guess you are me. Or, you’re  _not_ me but… Ugh, I don’t know! That shits too confusing! All I know is we gotta make a stop before we get on the number 9 cause I never get on the highway without a Slurpee in my cup-holder, know what I’m saying, girl!?”

 

“N-not really, but do whatever ya gotta.”

“What do you mean,  _not really_ ? You know the slogan, they make driving fun. They’re literally the best thing on earth. I mean, come on, what do  _you_ consider fun?”

 

“N-nah, you’re right,” he agreed, “I sure as hell miss t-the ship ‘n’ everythin’ else we worked on. Rick w-was good at that shit, taught me quite a b-bit back in the day.”

“Back in the day? Where is he now? I mean, why aren’t you with him?” He asked, raising a curious eyebrow.  “My Rick kinda retired from all that space stuff… He doesn’t even like to talk about it with me or anything. He’s kinda distant, but not  _that_ much. But then, you’ve got my stupid  _useless_ dad who could never even be bothered to…!” He trailed off, stopping himself before he got too emotional. “Err… Never mind…” He laughed nervously, flicking on the turn signal. 

“Who knows,” he replied, waving a hand nonchalantly.  “He left me some months a-ago,” Morty explained, narrowing his eyes the more his alternate beside him spoke so angrily of his family. At least he was getting the hint; meanwhile, he leaned against the side of the car, pulling out a cigarette to light up. 

He frowned when he heard the explanation. “Jeez, that’s just like… A total bummer. I’m really sorry to hear that.” He wanted to tell him his Rick was a stupid asshole for leaving him, figuring the other probably still cared about him, and wouldn’t like to hear that. 

“Do ya know why he g-gave it up?” His voice held just as much genuine curiosity.

“He never told me. But, when me and Summer first moved in with him he was pretty sick. He still is, I think he’s dying to be honest. If I had to guess, I’d say he could sense that, you know?” With only one hand on the wheel, he turned into the parking lot of a convenience store. He didn’t usually tell people his suspicions about Ricks health, but maybe this Mortys own story made him feel like he would be safe saying it to him.

“Tell me ‘bout it,” he agreed without hesitation, glancing around at the scenery and to where they were pulling in, before his attention quickly returned to the other Morty. He frowned at the mention of death, the whole idea leaving him solemn.  “Ya think nothin’ would s-stop that guy, huh?” A lighter subject, but his voice remained serious.  “S’gotta be rough, th–though. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I just… Try not to think about it.” Speaking of which, he felt the need to change the subject as he parked. “You know, you shouldn’t… It’s rude to smoke in someone else’s car without asking. Not that I care, just, for future reference.  Okay, well, I’ll be right back. You want anything?” Morty asked as he unbuckled and pulled the keys out of the ignition. 

He smiled and laughed, blowing out his smoke in Morty’s general direction all the while.  “I know,” he quipped in a teasing manner.  “Yeah, g-get me a coke,” he requested, before pausing.  “Thanks.”

“Ugh, you are  _so_ lucky I need you here…” He shook his head before exiting the car.

He returned a few minutes later with three overstuffed white plastic bags on his arms and a drink in each hand. “I know you said you wanted a coke, but I got you a coke Slurpee.” He explained, placing each cup in the respective drink holders and stuffing the bags into the backseat. He did pull out one item however. A new pair of sunglasses. “Are these not the cutest? I just had to have them.” He explained, replacing his current ones with them. “They’re shaped like stars! That’s just like, tripin-diculor.”

Morty glanced at the bags, confused about the contents of the rest of them, dismissing the idea with a strange look at the drink he was given. He took the cup in one hand with a curious and tentative sip, watching the other switch between colorful accessories. He laughed a bit.

“I like th-those ones,” he agreed.  “Trip, in…dicular.” A for effort, right?

“Yeah, tripin-dicular!” He repeated. As he pulled out, he couldn’t help but take a glance at himself with the new shades in the rear-view mirror. “God, I am  _so_ good looking.” He mentioned casually. “I can’t even stand it sometimes, y’know?”

His eyebrows raised and he nodded, glancing past the windshield and into the road ahead of them. What a mouthful. It was strange not hearing a Morty stutter, a voice sounding steady and crisp–no wonder he said words like that, the greaser mused.  “I know how it goes,” he agreed in the only way a vain alterdimensional version of yourself that wasn’t attracted to the other really could, in a milder context. He felt the urge to nitpick in a mirror all the same, deciding to comb through his swirl of thick hair with his free hand.  “Hey, uh, where’re we headed, a-anyways?” Maybe he  _could_  get an idea of how much time they’d be spending together, in the gentlest way possible.

“Rainbow Beach.” He answered. “It’s like… a five hour drive? But hey, that’s why I got so much candy!” He hated to admit it, but driving with this other Morty seemed like it was gonna be kinda fun. Of course, anybody was better than having to do this all by himself. “So, like, do you live with your parents?” Morty asked, kind of curious as to whether or not this Mortys parents were still together.

He quietly reached back to grab a bag of snacks and start rummaging through it, flicking ashes off his cigarette out the window and taking another puff as an excuse to stall and think.  “Nah,” he admitted, “th-they died a few years ago. The wh–my whole family did, ‘sides Rick,” he went on with a last breath, before pinching out the end of his cigarette and tossing the end of it out the window.  “Assumin’ Rick’s even s-still alive, heh.”

Morty felt his stomach drop. “Your  _whole_ family? Even Summer…? How’d that happen?” And here he’d been feeling sorry for himself. At least his parents were still alive, even if he never saw them. “So you're like, just totally on your own?”

“Yeah, man,” he pitched in before unwrapping something and stuffing into his mouth. He kept in mind to quietly finish chewing and swallow before starting to talk again, washing it down with another sip of the half-frozen soda.  “Everyone that–everyone in the house, a-at the time the s-stove caught fire,” he continued before devouring another snack. He figured the explanation got to the point, but still left room for questions if really need be, shaking his head as he finished his bite.  “Nah. Kinda w-wish I was.” Kinda a whole lot, he mused.

“Hey, could you pass me some gummy worms? They’re in one of those bags somewhere…” He didn’t expect something so mundane to be the cause of his family’s death. He thought for sure he’d say they died in some space battle or something. “So who  _do you_ live with?”

Morty took a moment to rummage through the various treats, digging until he found what he was looking for and handing the bag over.  “Meh,” he waved a hand as if it were casual, “a bunch of o-other Mortys in the daycare, i-in the citadel. S-storage Rick looks after us for the most part.”  He took a heavy few drinks from his cup again, followed by a loud belch.

“Barf me out! Do you _mind_?" Miami opened the candy’s packaging, taking one out and sucking off some of the sour sugar before taking a bite. “Screwy.” He commented on the others living situation. “So, are  _all your friends_ other Mortys?” As much as he loved himself he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle such a lack of variety in people.

Morty almost mockingly made a face in response, laughing.  “Not at all.”

“You don’t say. Well, you sure are  _grody_ like a Rick!” He commented, finishing the gummy before grabbing a sip of his drink through the neon green straw. “I think I’d go fucking crazy if I was in your position though. It sounds unbearable  _to me_ .”

“Check it, see all those semi trucks comin’ up? This is the collision corridor. They have more accidents in this next few miles then anywhere else in the state. It’s stressful as  _balls_ .”

“They ain’t nothin’ t-too different f-f-from the otha cars, same b-bored driver’s tryin’a get where they need to,” he attempted, waving at one of the drivers as one of the larger trucks sped by next to him.

“Yeah, but they’re huge. And those stupid trailers swerve in the wind. Sometimes they put  _two trailers_ on one!” He doubted he’d survive a collision with one of those monsters.

“If horses survive in those things, s-so will we,” he replied, frowning a bit in concern to the whole idea. No wonder the poor guy was scared.  “Hey, ya should b-buy me some cool shades, too, y'know,” he mused.

“Umm, a horse is  _way_ stronger then me.” He glanced at him.   “ _Okay_ !” Morty agreed more enthusiastically then he had intended. But he really did love buying things, and he hardly ever got to buy things for  _other people._ “When we stop for gas, I’ll get you some. Oh my god, I think I can already tell what kind would look  _so_ bitchin’ on you! Square shades are your style, am I right?”

“Yeah, sure, man,” he responded gingerly, stuffing some chips into his face.

“I need some new c-clothes all ‘round, maybe we can g-go shop sometime.”

“ _Really_ …? You really wanna go shopping with  _me_ ? You’ll let me… Buy you clothes? And pick you out stuff?” He seemed sincerely flattered. The possibility that he could be being used for his money didn’t even cross his mind. “I would  _love_ to. Oh, Morty…!” He clasped both his hands together in excitement, forgetting for just a second he was in control of a vehicle. “Ah!” He quickly grabbed the wheel, jerking the car back to where it had been before it could completely veer off into the next lane. “Whoops…  _Anyways_ I am so totally down for this. T that shit up!”

“I mean, why n-not?” he shrugged, brushing the chip dust off his hands. He was rather amused by all the excitement he was showing, hardly reacting to the sudden swerve of the car. Scared to drive by himself, he says.  “M-might as well make the best of the t-trip we got together, right?”

“Yeah, right. E-exactly.” Morty continued smiling to himself, as he prepared to turn on to the approaching service road. “Nobody else ever wanted me to… You’re gonna make me  _cry_ , Morty! You must really appreciate my good taste, huh?” He asked hopefully. 

His cheeks reddened just slightly as he watched the kid get so excited, happy that he’d finally found some level ground between them.

“Oh, yeah,” he played along, nodding with a little giggle.  “I’d l-like ta try it out,” he admitted more honestly, “s-seems ta be your niche, why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, I’ll do a great job, you’ll see! It’s an art, really.” He assured the other, pulling up to the roadside gas station. “Well, I hope you know how to pump gas because, I don’t.” Morty told him, turning off the engine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> co-written by leatherdisaster


End file.
